The Irish standard., 1887-01-29

Dromana Castle, the residence of Mr..
Villiers Stuart The sun is getting low
and white 1eecy clouds, fringed with
crimson are f1eckering in the sky.
There were occasional moments when
the sun appeared to us to have set, such
was the darkness when the bright day
god now and then hid his rays behind
one of the neighboring hills or the lofty
beeches of Dromana woods. The cas-
tleo Dromana is built on an eminence
of seventy feet, overlooking one of the
most beautiful views of the river. 1t is,
indeed, charmingly situated. Its woods
are magnificent, and many of it's
noblest trees rise proudly from the
verge of the river banks, which on both
sides are here thickly covered with
grand and stately oaks. A picturesque
island just in front of the castle, COW
cred with weeping willows and droop-
ing ash adds much to the beauty of the
picture. The Avonmore glides swiftly
on and Dromana its castle and its green
woods are left behind. Silence reigns
on board as we gaze entranced at the
still more beautiful scene that now
opens before us. The boat still sweeps
on until it brings us under the walls of
Strancally Castle, which is an impos-
ing mass of Gothic tow ers and battle
ments, curtains and barbicans. A lit
tie from it stands the older castle of
Strancally, grand old hory and pic
turesque ruin. The river narrows here
and from the group on board there
rises an exclamation of wonder and de-
light as we sweep by the new castle
with it's green velvety sloping lawn,
whose tropical flowers bow to the
waters edge, and it's lonely woods with
sunlight dancing through. Behind all
the brown hills stand in calm and ma
jestic repose. The water here is said to
be of fathomless depth, and it is believed
that tn re is a subterraneous passage
from old Strarcally castle to the river.
The Blackwater suddenly widens out
after we pass this point. The river has
now all the appearance of broad. long
large lake with creeks and bays at both
sides. But there is still great profu-
sion of wood on it's banks. Behind all
are the Waterford mountains bounding
the horizon in the distance. We steam
swiftly through the lakes, and approach
Ballinatray. The sun is now setting.
A golden haze tips the western waters
of the lake we have just passed through.
The topmost branches of the green
trees of Balinatray road are flushed with
pink. The river flows like silver
band by the laws and meads of fair
Ballinatray. Deep silenceihas fallen on
land and water. Not sound Is heard
but the splash of the paddles, the throb
of the engines and the swish of the
water from the bows of the steamer, as
we wind our sinuous and serpentine
course through the rushing waters.
The brave little Avonmore holds on her
way. The beauty of the scene has
hushed all on board to silence, and the
stiffness is almost deathlike.
We are now rushing to the sea.
Youghal lies a few miles ahead. The
last rays of the setting sun are dancing
on the white walls of the convent which
faces the sea. The sun goes down be-
hind a sharp peaked mountain. The
sky is crimson in the west. One or two
golden clouds sail lazily eastwards, and
as they float along, their golden hue
becomes dyed with yermilion. An
evening bell chimes from the convent.
Ave Maria! The shades Of night are
creeping on us as the Avonmore shoots
through one of the wooden arches of
the great bridge which connects the
counties of Cork and Waterford. We
are in the open sea. The river, with
all it's glories, we have left behind.
Dromana woods are sunk in gloom.
The pious monks of La Trappe have
told their mathis aud gone to rest. The
lights of Youghal town are Pickering
as we approach the pier, and the panor-
anna of the Blackwater is lost to sight.